


The Last Kingdom - Finan Faces The Sickness

by RearAdmiral



Category: The Last Kingdom (TV), The Warrior Chronicles | The Saxon Stories - Bernard Cornwell
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-09
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-15 12:33:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29314137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RearAdmiral/pseuds/RearAdmiral
Summary: Finan is scared witless of the sickness that is sweeping across the kingdoms.A spin out of Episode 6/Series 4 - the scene where the crew is making their way to Wenloca with the children to meet Athelflaed and Aldhelm, and have to ditch their horses and proceed on foot to avoid the bad air. Eardwulf and his troops are on the hunt so the group split up and Uhtred, Finan and Sihtric lure the horsemen away from the children towards the river - a good plan until they get to the water’s edge.
Relationships: Finan & Sihtric (The Last Kingdom), Finan & Uhtred of Bebbanburg, Finan/Sihtric/Uhtred of Bebbanburg, Sihtric & Uhtred of Bebbanburg, Sihtric (The Last Kingdom) & Original Character(s)
Comments: 13
Kudos: 24





	1. Chapter 1

They had run fast to the edge of the river, returning their weapons to their scabbards as they did so, with plans to swim across, but all three pulled up sharp, chests heaving as they reached the bank.

They stood at the sandy edge, facing a barrage of bloated and distorted corpses, barely nudged downstream by the brown gently swirling current - the recent floods further upstream had brought the dead to this spot, hundreds of them, face up, face down, riding up against each other, fingers gingerly touching others in a macabre dance, knocking and cajoling each other down towards the sea on a journey that would take days. On that early Autumn evening, dusk was still an hour away, and Uhtred and his two closest friends had a little less than a minute to escape the clutches of Eardwulf’s troops who were cantering close along the river bank, intent on skewering Uhtred and his men on their drawn swords.

‘Oh sweet Jesus Christ,’ murmured Finan as he crossed himself and made to move back onto the path.

Uhtred anticipated Finan’s reaction and lunged towards him, managing to grab him with one hand on his sleeveless leather tunic before he could withdraw further from the water.

‘Finan, look at me, we’re getting in to this river and we are going to hide.’

But already Finan was twisting away, trying to draw both short swords, intent on fighting - still Uhtred tugged him back round to face him.

Uhtred grabbed the back of Finan’s neck with his other hand to still him. ‘Finan, if we die here the children die, Edith dies, we have to hide and get back to them.’

Finan’s eyes were wholly dark and wide and tears were brewing as he frantically scoured Uhtred’s face for some hope of changing his mind.

‘Uhtred,’ he pleaded, ‘I cannot, don’t ask it, we’ll fight Uhtred, will ya let me fight.’

He was shaking, his knuckles white as he gripped Uhtred’s wrist with both hands, and his eyes were locked on Uhtred’s, and Uhtred knew if Finan glanced across his shoulder and saw again the pustule wrecked bodies in the water that it was all lost, and he’d lose his life alongside Finan and Sihtric right here - and the panic hurled itself along Uhtred’s chest into his limbs for he saw the childrens’ fate then and he was powerless.

And then in a decisive move that even he was unaware he was about to make, Sihtric, who had been standing behind them facing out towards the path, seax drawn, scanning for the riders, turned towards Finan and from behind him he brought the hilt of the seax sharply sideways into Finan’s temple - the force broke the skin and the cracking sound was sickening and Finan’s eyes closed, his legs gave way and he slumped into Uhtred, who staggered to hold him upright -Sihtric, with pallid face and a gritted jaw, and without making eye contact with Uhtred, sheathed his seax and moved to wrap Finan’s arm around his shoulder and between them they manoeuvred the limp Finan forwards and stepped into the river’s poisoned waters.

They had no time to reach the other side, the hoof beats of the mounted horses were echoing along the path and the reverberations of their grouped gallop could be felt by the trio as they crept deeper into the water. The best they could do was to sidle into the clumps of tall thick reed near to where they had entered the river and Sihtric led, using the toe of a boot to push away the bodies that had met the shallows. Hampered by Finan’s unconscious frame between them they pushed sideways and deep into the dark cluster of sharp green leaves and crouched as low as they dared - Uhtred slowly twisted to face Finan and nudged his shoulder up and under Finan’s head, and allowed their bodies to sink lower into the cold brown water until they were kneeling. He reached very slowly behind his back with one hand to claw at his linen cloak, hooking the cloth and pulling it slowly around the hilt of Serpent-Breath and over their three heads, in small handfuls at a time until half its length was dripping over them and it formed a canopy that blocked the scene over Uhtred’s shoulder and blocked the rancid smell that hung suspended a few inches above the water that sat just below their necks.

The shouts of the men on horseback sharpened as the distance closed between them and the hidden group, and Uhtred could hear some debate and discord rumbling along as they came - the sickness was sprouting terror in all sides and none of Aethelred’s men were keen to end the day by shitting blood from their breeches. There seemed there was little chance of Eadwulf persuading any oathman to enter that river in the search for three fugitives and a party of children. Some of the horsemen had already fled earlier on in the day and this remaining core were hanging on only on the promise of doubled reward. But even the stupidest member of this troop realised that double reward was of little value if you were dead.

They had slowed their horses to a walk so it was only a matter of time before one of the men would spot the tracks on the river bank, even in the diminishing light. Then it would be a simple case of whether any of them were loyal enough to Aethelred to warrant getting their feet wet.

Uhtred turned his head, his cheek pressing against the Irishman’s hair on his shoulder, to look at Sihtric under the gloom of the cloak. The Dane was shivering and his expression was grim. ‘He will never forgive me,’ he whispered, barely audible, ‘If we get out of this he will never be my brother again.’

Uhtred’s stomach jolted as he took in the truth of Sihtric’s words, but almost immediately his fear was replaced by an understanding, a sure knowledge that if they climbed out of this river and cheated the sickness, that Finan would stay open hearted and bound to his two brothers. He would be grumpy with them for maybe many weeks but ale and a fight would re-stick the ties surely.

‘Sihtric,’ Uhtred whispered, ‘You did the only thing you could, I saw eight, and they had bows, we would have been dead without them even having to dismount.’

It could have been the cold of the water clasping their tunics and seeping into their boots and breeches or the increasing noise that the eight riders were making as they neared Uhtred’s hiding spot but either way Finan stirred from his unconscious stupor, and lifted his head slightly, moaning into Uhtred’s collarbone as he leaned his forehead into Uhtred’s neck. Uhtred could smell the blood from Finan’s temple and feel it trickle down his own neck but he stayed still and low in the water, hoping that, as his face would be the first image that Finan saw if he opened his eyes, that he could keep the Irishman calm and still with little more than a look.

As awareness began to filter in, Finan’s body started to react to the cold and he began to shiver. Uhtred had both arms round Finan’s waist and tightened his hold slightly to keep the Irishman still. There was very little wind and any movement of the reeds at their base was amplified upwards towards their tips. Whilst the eight household guards were making enough noise to drown out a hall feast as they worked their way down the river bank, if they fell silent for even a moment they would be drawn towards any rustling reed bed immediately.

Sihtric was trying to control his own shivering with clamped jaw, his eyes wide to make the most of the dwindling light under the cover of the cloak.

Uhtred could feel the gentle taps and knocks of corpses on the outer fronds of their reed bed as the water slowly pushed and pulled them along, and wished he could move a hand to grasp at his amulet around his neck.

Eardwulf’s men were still griping and moaning as they moved along the bank, swiping the huge clumps of reed periodically with their swords. They were similarly brought up short as they spied the cluster of corpses bunching up and slowly moving through this narrower gap in the water’s journey, and pulled their horses back from the water’s edge. And then one of the men saw the footsteps in the sand and shouted the alarm.

The enemy’s shouts pierced through Finan’s unconscious frame and he stirred again against Uhtred, raising his head up and slowly opening his eyes - he blinked hard and slowly and winced as the muscle movement ripped through the bruising on the side of his head - he blinked again and Uhtred could see his eyes start to focus in the gloom from under the linen cloak, and fill with recognition as he looked at Uhtred’s face. Sihtric shifted nervously under the canopy of the cloak as he watched Finan from the side and listened to the debate now raging on the bank amongst the eight extremely anxious men. They were completely conflicted, torn between absolute terror of the sickness and the offer of coin that would last them half a year. Uhtred couldn’t hear Eardwulf’s voice, so this group of riders must be outliers now under the rule of a second or third in command, and as such every move they made required endless debate amongst near-equals. At this moment the discussion was centred around how many had made the footprints on the river bank and whether their quarry had in fact swum across or moved away from the infested waters and onto the rocky stony upper bank to continue their escape along dry ground. The men had moved back from the water’s edge, away from the water-logged corpses, whilst they argued their next move and Uhtred could tell some were talking through muffled cloths or rag they were holding to their mouths and noses.

Finan’s awareness was returning and he lifted his hands to place them on Uhtred’s chest - Uhtred saw the confusion in Finan’s eyes as he registered that his hands and arms were wet, dripping mud-smelling river from his leather wrist bands.

‘Finan.’ Uhtred whispered,‘Stay still, do not move.’

Finan’s eyes widened to take in Uhtred’s face in front of his own and his eyes creased in a question but he didn’t speak it, instead Finan bowed his head and began to whisper the words of a Christian prayer and Uhtred strained to make out the words softly mumbled in his Irish lilt, under his breath though chattering teeth, ‘For what can a man do to me? Nothing, for you have delivered my soul from death and my feet from stumbling that I may walk before God.’ His body was shaking - a rivulet of blood was working its way into his eye and he moved to wipe it away before realising his hands were contaminated with the poisoned water and a low moan escaped from his mouth as the terror built in his chest - Uhtred thanked the Gods his cloak was obscuring the scene that lay beyond his shoulder and instead concentrated on trying to keep Finan calm. He leaned in and place his forehead on Finan’s, closed his eyes and made quiet shushing noises. The Irishman was visibly fighting with the panic that was building, the realisation of where he was kneeling a stronger understanding for now than how exactly it had come about.

Eardwulf’s men were moving off, having loudly but unanimously decided that their quarry had escaped by swimming the river, and they now needed to find the bridge back upstream to reach the opposite bank. There wasn’t much conviction to their words and Uhtred strongly suspected that they would in fact head up river for only a little way before peeling off West to head on to Ceastre which would take them further away from the sickness and the bad air that carried it. The rain had started and the heavy drops landing on the canopy of the cloak and the reed’s branches became the louder noise as the horsemen disappeared.

Uhtred made to slowly stand, pushing the cloak off their heads and back behind him, but keeping one arm round Finan’s middle to nudge him up from kneeling. The mud on the river bottom squelched and water swirled as it took over the space left behind, the mud giving off its gases and bubbles rising to the surface. Sihtric reversed his actions of earlier taking Finan’s arm around his shoulders and leading the three of them back out of the water - his boot was required once or twice again to move the corpses along. Finan was still too woozy to take his own weight and once clear of the river bank Uhtred and Sihtric gently walked him back upstream, his head hanging and his feet dragging against smoothed river stones before they were clear enough of the log jam of corpses - they stooped to sit him down on the hardened ground and Uhtred sat alongside him with his arm around the Irishman to keep him propped up.

It was cold, the wind now picked up, and the dusk had taken a hold across the sky. They were soaked through and Uhtred had the wry thought that if the plague didn’t get a hold of them then the cold and wet would surely make them all sick.

He thought to take Sihtric’s mind off the circumstances with orders to keep him busy.

‘We have to find shelter Sihtric, we won’t make it back to the children tonight, we need a fire and we need to get dry.’

Sihtric nodded, and his eyes scanned the gigantic grey boulders that rose up from the sides of the river. Further along there were promising shadows along the boulders’ forms that suggested hollows or even better shallow caves were on offer, and Sihtric made off quickly and silently to the rock line to check.

Sat besides Finan, Uhtred looked hard into the distance upstream, checking for the riders, but they were long out of sight and Uhtred felt instinctively that they were indeed headed for the perceived safety of Ceastre. He was confused as to where Eardwulf had gone, and the worry niggled at him, he was convinced he had spotted Earfdwulf in his first glimpse of the Mercians, when the fleeing group of warriors, children and a woman had emerged from the river valley into the meadows. They had split then, with Uhtred ordering Osferth and Edith to withdraw with the children back into the woods, and secure a hiding place whilst he ran on with Finan and Sihtric across the meadow grass and on to the river to draw the troops away. Bows had changed everything though, once Uhtred has spied those the plan had changed from run and engage, to run and hide. 

Finan was in a bad way, he was no longer moving, not even shivering, but leaned heavily into Uhtred, eyes closed, his head heavy and slack on Uhtred’s shoulder, blood still actively running down the side of his face and slickly dripping down Uhtred’s tunic.It was darkening across the sky and the rain was relentlessly dropping onto their bare heads, ensuring a steady drenching and adding and mingling with the river water that had soaked into their linen undershirts and breeches and leather tunics. Uhtred scanned the line of rocks to see if Sihtric was close to returning and could make out his crouched figure running at speed towards them. 

‘Lord,’ Sihtric gasped, ‘I’ve found a cave, its close, we could light a fire.’ As he spoke he moved to the other side of Finan, crouching to lift the Irishman’s limp arm once more across his shoulders and gently pushing upright to lift him. 

Sihtric had found a good cave, its entrance forced the three men to stoop low to enter it, but it gradually opened out into a bigger chamber that was tall enough to allow them to stand upright. Further inwards the ceiling vaulted sharply up and Uhtred could see slits of sky high above, visible through gaps in the rock. Whilst Finan was still upright and supported by Sihtric, Uhtred unclasped his cloak. He turned towards the cave entrance to make the most of the remaining light to tear a strip of linen from its border, before laying the cloak on the sandy floor near to where a previous traveller had made a make-shift ring of stones to form a hearth - the cloak was wet, but provided at least a layer of cloth to lay on. Both men gently lay Finan down on the cloak - his eyes stayed closed, and Uhtred pushed his dark hair back off his forehead and began to unlace the bracers at his wrists.

There were plenty of signs here of previous fires and of occupation, this cave was clearly well-known by the locals, but Uhtred felt safe enough to make a new fire now - in all reality they had little choice given how cold they all were, it would be a long night in any event and even longer without flames, so Uhtred dispatched Sihtric to collect wood. He thought Sihtric was relieved to be busy and the Dane hastened back out of the cave entrance. 

Bracers and boots removed, Uhtred then unbuckled Finan’s sword belt and slid it from under his back and then unlaced his leather tunic, pulling it apart to reveal the cloth undershirt, although there was little chance of removing either until Sihtric returned. He wanted fresh water but had to make do with just the strip of cloth torn from his cloak that he now used to wipe the dampness from Finan’s forehead and the blood from his temple - more blood welled to immediately replace the blood wiped clear, and Uhtred peered anxiously in the gloom at the Irishman’s forehead for signs of new beads of sweat forming - he knew enough from the healers at Ceastre and the old woman who was good with herbs at Coccham, that the first signs of the sickness was a persistent sweat, but he didn’t think the disease manifested itself this soon - he was also silently praying that the purulent corpses weren’t the cause of the disease’s spread and that it was carried by air and he touched Thor’s hammer at his neck as he watched Finan - the light in the cave now was so low as to make any observations near impossible but just then Sihtric stooped and entered the cave with a large bundle of twigs and larger logs. 

Using the ring of stones nearest to where Finan lay, Sihtric set about getting the fire lit - his leather pouch of flint and wool tinder that he kept on a leather thread about his neck and tucked high up in his tunic had stayed dry and it wasn’t long before sparks had established into pale coloured flames around the smaller twigs. The damp wood protested with spits and crackles, but the power of the flames took hold and the fire began to push out some heat. 

Sihtric hadn’t spoken since the river, other than to report on the presence of the cave, the tension obvious in the set of his jaw, and he had barely looked at either Finan or Uhtred as he went about getting the cave warmer.He moved to Finan’s side and in silence helped Uhtred pull off Finan’s leather jerkin, he then fashioned a tripod of sturdy twigs close to the further side of the fire and hung their wet outer garments on it for drying. He ducked back out of the cave again without saying anything to his Lord and Uhtred could only assume he was searching for more firewood.

As the level of light grew with the flames Uhtred resumed his efforts at making Finan more comfortable. The gash to the side of Finan’s head was on his far side so he had to lean over to see what he was doing. He pressed the folded linen strip back onto the side of Finan’s head. He held it there for a few minutes applying gentle pressure,before removing his hand and leaving the cloth in place - Uhtred sat back on his haunches and watched the Irishman closely. Finan’s eyes opened then and he moaned softly. His hand moved to his chest where he expected to feel his cross that was hung on his leather tunic, so Uhtred scrambled to the rack of twigs to unhook it from the tunic’s lacing and place it in his hand. 

‘Finan, can you hear me?’

Finan turned towards the fire and his eyes focussed on Uhtred crouched alongside him. He looked groggy and his pupils were wide in the low light of the cave.

‘How’s your head?’ Uhtred asked.

‘Sore.’ Finan answered laconically and made to touch the side of his head before Uhtred knocked his hand gently away.

‘Leave it be, I’m trying to stem the bleeding,’ he said then leaned to place his palm on Finan’s forehead. It felt cold and clammy, certainly not hot and feverish but Uhtred had no way of knowing whether Finan or any of them was sickening so soon or at all.

Finan closed his eyes as Uhtred kept his hand on his head and he felt the Irishman breathe in deeply and then back out in a shaky sigh, squeezing his eyes shut tighter before relaxing - Uhtred kept his calming hand there for a few moments longer and felt Finan relax his frame. The fire was now robust and the gaps in the cave ceiling were doing their job by drawing the smoke up and out through the natural chimney fissures. Uhtred moved to sit cross legged by the fire near to Finan’s head to allow the heat to reach his friend and start to dry them both out. 

‘How did we end up in that river?’ Finan asked softly, eyes closed, his hand in a fist by his side where he held his crucifix. Uhtred stared morosely into the flames thinking of how to frame his words. In the end he decided on the plain truth of it. 

‘Sihtric thumped you with his seax.’

‘And where is the little runt now?’ Finan asked so quietly Uhtred could barely hear him above the the crackling of the wood. 

‘He’s collecting more wood,’ Uhtred paused,‘Finan, we had no choice, we....’

‘But you didn’t knock me out Uhtred,’ Finan interrupted him, ‘Ya didn’t make that choice.’ 

It was not lost on Uhtred that Finan was calling him by his name rather than his title. In his use of Uhtred’s name rather than his rank, he was emphasising that he was Finan’s friend first, that was his foremost duty to the Irishman.

‘We are all bound Finan, Sihtric’s actions are my actions, I answer for them, in the same way that we would have been bound by your actions to stand and fight eight archers on horseback if that’s what you had insisted on doing, and we would now be dead.’

‘We’re dead anyway.’ Finan sighed. He moved his hand to his temple and gingerly pulled the linen strip away. Uhtred was relieved to see that the bleeding had stopped but the bruising was angry and had spread to Finan’s cheekbone and his eye, swelling the brow bone and pushing the eyelid half shut. 

‘Finan,’ Uhtred spoke softly, ‘we’re not dead, we will rest here for the night and in the morning we’ll return to the children.’ 

‘Lord,’ Finan moaned, and there was the reminder of Uhtred’s role and rank.‘By the morning we will be leaking watery filth from our arses and by supper time we won’t know or care where we are,’ he turned his head, wincing and fixed Uhtred with a look that was part angry, part fearful.

Finan had first hand experience of how the disease took hold within a community, in his native Ireland, and had talked about strong men ploughing fields in the morning, bleeding into their breeches before the day’s end with a painful death following within a few days, and the Irishman, with all his sword skill and bravery was absolutely terrified of that fate. An enemy he could see or skewer with his sword was always faced with courage and enthusiasm and neither Sihtric or Uhtred had ever seen Finan this scared until now. He had never shown fear on the slave ship and was resolute in any shield wall, no matter the numbers he was facing, but this unseen enemy was the devil’s work and Finan felt in its grasp. 

At that moment Sihtric entered the cave, with large armfuls of wood, potentially enough to keep the fire fed through the night. He was wet through, the rain still falling hard outside and he placed the pile of logs down near to the fireside. 

Uhtred glanced at Finan but he had closed his eyes once more, although no doubt he was listening to Sihtric’s movements as he removed his boots and pulled his leather tunic over his head, placing the tunic on the twig rack and the boots near to the hearthstones to dry. He took a place on the other side of the fire and sat. 

It was Finan who broke the silence, ‘What I wouldn’t give for a barrel of ale,’ he whispered, ‘I could drink a whole field of barley.’ 

Sihtric froze at the sound of the Irishman’s voice and looked at him intently. Uhtred could see the Dane was struggling with how to behave, with how to deal with the broken trust that he now anticipated hung between the two of them. 

Uhtred was pulling his damp boots back on, ‘I’ll take first watch’ he announced and stood, stretching, before heading towards the cave’s entrance and ducking low to exit. 

Sihtric was prodding the fire, his hand shaking and his heart racing, he couldn’t remember a time when he had felt quite so miserable, quite so cut loose and he had his childhood to measure against this despair. 

‘Sihtric’ he heard from the other side of the fire, and looked across to where Finan lay. Across the flames he could see that Finan had turned onto his side, his head resting on the crook of his arm, his bruised and cut temple uppermost. Shadows played across his face and made dark the dried blood and bruising on the side of his head and Sihtric winced when he saw the damage, and he flinched when he saw the murderous expression on Finan’s dark face.

‘I’m sorry Finan,’ Sihtric murmured simply, ‘I’m so sorry.’

‘I’m a good Christian boy Sihtric,’ growled Finan, ‘And I’ve never killed for the fun of it, but I swear by Christ that I’m going ta rip ya guts out and feed them to the crows and you will not be anywhere near a sword when I do it, you devious, treacherous bastard!’

‘You’d have to stay well enough to catch me first Finan.’ Sihtric announced, lifting his chin in defiance a little, and he saw his words catch Finan by surprise, and then he saw Finan’s mouth twitch in a small smile. 

‘Let’s hope to Christ we stay cold and miserable tonight and shiver our way to the dawn then you scrawny Danish shite,’ Finan snarled. ‘If I start sweating out me arse you have my permission to knock the daylights outa me permanently.’ 


	2. Getting Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s the morning after the night before and the boys are looking to return to Osferth, Edith and the children. But Finan is convinced he’s sick and is seriously cross with Sihtric. Uhtred is having to referee

That was an interesting night - Finan, after his surly comments to Sihtric had retreated back into a half sleep, half anxious wakeful state, with muttering and tossing and turning accompanied with what Uhtred and Sihtric both hoped was not the beginnings of a sweat or fever, but neither were sure. 

Uhtred and Sihtric had shared the watch across the shortening Autumn night, and as dawn broke, sending it’s thin tendrils into the entrance of the cave, it was Uhtred who shared the shelter with the Irishman. Finan seemed to be sleeping peacefully as Uhtred opened his eyes. They had taken it in turns to check on him, tentatively, in Sihtric’s case, feeling his forehead to see if he felt too hot, but both appreciated that it could just as easily be either of them starting to sicken, or, Gods forbid, all three of them. 

They had to get back to the children and Edith and Osferth today. Uhtred trusted Osferth to have assumed they had hit a bit of trouble and were obliged to hole up for the night, but if Uhtred did not return by the end of today, Uhtred was sure Osferth would strike camp and move the children on. 

Uhtred sat up and stretched his arms above his head, his body stiff from its shift on the cave floor, and nurdled the fire with a stick. There was nothing left but embers now, that sent up a desultory, skinny wisp of smoke and ash. 

Uhtred stood and pulled his leather tunic from the twigs Sihtric had built and pulled it over his linen undershirt. It was still damp and snagged at the linen but Uhtred coaxed it over his shoulders and laced it up. As he did so he looked over at Finan, who was laid on his side, the crook of his arm a pillow, facing the hearth stones. His breathing was deep and regular, his eyes were relaxed, his dark lashes still. 

The day ahead was going to draw on all of Uhtred’s political skill, he thought wryly, his dealings with Alfred were going to be child’s play compared to the tension that he would need to navigate over the next few hours, days, weeks or Gods forbid, months. He’d never known Finan to sulk or hold a grudge, he was an open straight-up character, but he’d never known Finan to be bashed unconscious by one of his closest friends before either. This would prove to be a whole new facet to Finan’s character that Uhtred and to a far greater extent, Sihtric, would be facing with this new day. Uhtred wasn’t looking forward to this, so he could only imagine the level of angst Sihtric was wrestling with as he wrapped up the last watch and entered the cave. 

‘Sihtric, this is the plan’ Uhtred said, more confidentally than he felt, ‘We get Finan up and we get ourselves back to the woods where we last left Osferth. He won’t have gone far with the children, when we are reunited we continue to head for Ceastre, we have friends there, we can defend Ceastre from any attempt Eardwulf makes to snatch Aelfwynn.’

Sihtric nodded, watching Uhtred pull on his boots, and passing him a freshly filled water skin. 

Uhtred grabbed Finan’s leather jerkin from the twig tripod and approached the sleeping Irishman. He crouched down alongside him and gently shook his shoulder, and then more vigorously when Finan didn’t stir. Finan suddenly jerked awake, his hand instinctively moving to where his sword hilt would have been, but rapidly changing course as his head then screeched in protest. 

‘Morning Finan’ Uhtred said, in what even he could hear was a forced cheerfulness, ‘How is your head?’ He asked as he stood back up. 

Finan had sat up and was gently rubbing his hands through his hair and tentatively down his face, wincing as he probed his swollen cheekbone and brow. He didn’t answer. 

Uhtred handed him the water, which he took and gulped gratefully. He turned to look up at Uhtred, head cocked to one side, swollen eye blackened and pushed almost completely shut, the other dangerously hooded. 

‘What’s the plan today Lord?‘ he asked innocently enough, before continuing, ‘Do we check for weeping boils on our bodies Lord, or just start bashing each other over the heads with our swords when our backs are turned?’ 

‘Finan’, Uhtred said in a low voice, reproachfully, ‘Stop it.’ 

He handed Finan his tunic and held his hand out to the Irishman to pull him up. Finan wobbled for a second as he got to his feet, and Uhtred kept hold of his wrist whilst he steadied himself. 

‘Christ this is going to be a long day Lord,‘ Finan muttered sourly, struggling to pull on his damp leather tunic. He bent, squeezing his eyes shut to fend off the head spin, to retrieve his scabbard, and buckle it round his waist.

‘You’re not wrong Finan,’ Uhtred replied dryly, ‘We go!’ He ordered to the both of them and ducked out of the cave. 

They began the trudge back towards the woods in the expanding morning light, the sun starting to disperse the watery mist that clung to the long grasses and reeds of the river bank. They followed the line of the river, keeping that close to their left, whilst Sihtric, lithe and silent, clambered the boulders to their right to get a clearer view of their return upriver, and scout on ahead. 

Uhtred watched Finan, who walked on ahead, the muscles in his upper arms bunched, the tension in the way he held his back obvious, as was the headache he was wrestling with, every now and again the Irishman squeezing and rubbing the back of his neck or ruffling his hair with a hand as he looked from right to left up the path, other hand resting on his sword hilt. 

They were all tired and hungry, all were sore from their night on the hard floor of the cave, and they were all on tenter hooks as they moved on towards the woods. The boulders and craggy rocks gave way to flatter meadowland so Sihtric returned to walk in single file with the other two, ahead on the path, putting Finan in the middle. For awhile they walked on in watchful silence, until Finan piped up, Sihtric’s back tensing at the sound of Finan’s voice.

‘I had a feral cousin back home in Ireland Sihtric,’ Finan called from behind him. ‘Would gnaw at rocks, we had to keep him on a chain and you’d never let him get behind ya.’ Finan chuckled at that last point. ‘In that regard you remind me of him Sihtric.’ 

Sihtric kept walking, he did not turn round. 

‘He was a mad bastard he was, but he was absolutely shite at fighting, there was no sport in messing with him so everyone left him alone.’ 

‘Finan’ Uhtred growled in a warning from behind him.

‘Me meanwhile, I’m what ya’d call ‘All Warrior’ Finan continued in a chirpy tone. 

‘Finan’ Uhtred spoke again in a low voice, ‘You will stop this.’ 

Finan drew his swords, slowly and precisely as he walked, making a show of checking each of the blades in the sunlight. Uhtred subtlety quickened his step to close the gap between himself and the Irishman.

‘I,’ Finan repeated in his soft Irish lilt, ‘Am all warrior.’ Finan sheathed his swords and Sihtric kept walking resolutely on.

The early Autumn morning was sunny and bright, it was brewing to become an unseasonably warm day, a throw back to the Summer, and it was with some relief that they eventually reached the first trees that formed the edge of the woodlands, offering them dappled shade.

Uhtred called a halt to get some rest, and they all moved off the river path into the first row of young trees and sat on the warm ground. Finan flopped onto his back with a groan, his bare scarred arms flung out to his sides, knees drawn up, and Sihtric eyed him, like a skittish foal watching a lion settle, waiting until he was still, with his eyes closed before picking a large tree close by and hauling himself up into it. He turned a full circle to look across the meadow, the river and the edge of the woods where they were resting. As he faced into the morning sun, the strengthening rays tickled his eyes and he sneezed. 

Finan sprung up to a sitting position, a hand on each sword hilt and peered intently up at the Dane above him. 

‘Shite, what was that Sihtric?’ He demanded gruffly. The glowering look he gave Sihtric sent a spike of nervous adrenaline tingling up Sihtric’s spine. 

Sihtric looked down from the tree and ducked a few branches to meet Finan’s eyes, ‘It was a sneeze’ he called down. 

Finan made the sign of the cross on his chest and put his crucifix in his mouth. He glanced across at Uhtred who was sat, legs crossed, watching him, a slight smile on his lips. 

‘Finan,’ Uhtred said gently, ‘Why are you shitting yourself?’ 

Finan scowled at him in disbelief. He spat his cross out. ‘Because Uhtred’ he said dryly ‘ I am sweating like an arse, my head is pounding, and my greatest hope Uhtred, my greatest hope,’ he spoke through gritted teeth, ‘Is that we’ll be back with Osferth in time for him to give me ma last rites.’ 

‘You are sweating because we have walked on a hot sunny morning and you have a headache because you were smacked over the head with Sihtric’s seax yesterday,’ Uhtred explained in a patient tone, as if Finan were one of the children. “And you need to stop poking at Sihtric.’ He added.

And then suddenly Sihtric froze and whispered ‘Lord!” 

Uhtred and Finan looked up towards Sihtric who had ducked down into his branches slightly but was staring hard ahead of him into the deeper woods. 

They both stood quietly and slowly, Finan drew both his short swords and Uhtred drew Serpent-Breath, looking for their cue from Sihtric. 

The Dane looked down at them both, ‘Eardwulf, and four, no, five men, can’t see horses,’ he spoke softly.

‘What’s that beef-witted idiot doing in the woods?’ Uhtred whispered, ‘And where does this mean Osferth is?’ He looked over at Finan questioningly. 

Finan shrugged, ‘The baby monk will have kept the children safe Lord,’ he answered matter-of-factly. 

And then there was no more time for discussion because suddenly Uhtred and Finan were surrounded. The Gods weren’t smiling on them if, after the evasive action they had taken the day before, they had managed to simply stumble right back into the same trouble.

‘You have led us a merry dance Uhtred,’ smirked Eardwulf, as the five household troops set themselves in a neat evenly spaced circle around the two men, who were now back to back. All were shaded under the canopy of the large tree. 

‘Lord Uhtred,’ Uhtred prompted, facing Eardwulf. 

Eardwulf cocked his head, perhaps to acknowledge the rank but he didn’t say the word. He and his men all had their swords drawn and were in full mail, the troops in helmets too. Finan was in a sleeveless leather tunic and breeches and Uhtred was in a long-sleeved black undershirt, with his leather tunic over the top. His torn cloak had been thrown over one shoulder in the heat of their walk, and he shucked that off now, letting it fall to the ground. Neither man had armour, but Uhtred had Serpent-Breath drawn, and Wasp Sting in his scabbard. He could feel Finan at his back, wound tight, ready. 

‘Where is Aelfwynn?’ Eardwulf asked with an impatient sigh. 

So he hadn’t found the children, Uhtred thought with a pang of relief. 

“Far from your grasp Eardwulf,’ Uhtred replied nonchalantly, praying to all the Gods he didn’t then spy Aelfwynn pottering about in the forest just behind them all. He shrugged and added ‘She will be at least a day ahead of you by now.’ 

‘No matter,’ Eardwulf said smoothly, ‘We will retrieve her sooner or later.’ He casually moved his sword so that it rested over his shoulder. He clearly found the six against two ratio quite a reassuring one. ‘In the meantime Uhtred, you will accompany me back to Aylesburg, I am sure your King will want to publicly address your antics over the last few days.’ 

‘Lord’ Uhtred prompted again patiently, ‘Its Lord Uhtred you piece of oily weasel shit,’ 

And with that Uhtred suddenly closed the space between himself and Eardwulf, registering the look of surprise on Eardwulf’s face as he stumbled back, trying to retrieve his sword from over his shoulder and giving Uhtred time to swing Serpent-Breath low at his man to his left, slicing through the front of his legs, hitting bone across the top of both his knees watching him topple from the corner of his eye. And then Uhtred was on top of Eardwulf, slashing with Serpent-Breath as Aethelred’s commander tried to withdraw and parry whilst his remaining guardsman attempted to lure Uhtred with some hefty swings. 

Finan meanwhile had three of the guards slinking towards him, only their eyes visible above the laced cheek pieces of their helmets. Sweat would no doubt be trickling into their eyes in this heat, but Finan couldn’t keep the man to his right in his view at all, the scope of his own vision affected by his swollen shut eye. 

Whereas Uhtred had sprung forward, Finan now stepped back and circled around so that he had the tree trunk at his back, his swords held high and crossed in front of him. 

Finan was lightning quick, and his first lunge of his short sword struck the guard who stood in the middle of the trio, ramming his blade below his mail and up into his groin. The man collapsed like a sack of grain but his sudden doubling up pulled the sword from Finan’s hand and it went down with him, lodged between his drawn up legs. One eye, one sword, two men left, where the hell was Sihtric?

Then both guards were on him, and he was parrying against two long swords with only his single short sword, so he was obliged to just defend rather than launch any attack, working in much closer range than he would have otherwise liked. 

A defensive swipe above Finan’s head made fortuitous contact with one of the men’s collar bones, skidding off a mail collar and making sharp contact with the man’s gullet, although not quite severing the wind pipe. The man dropped his sword to clutch at his neck, his shaky legs carrying him backwards and down onto the forest floor. A flap of skin hung down from his chin, through which Finan could see the man’s row of bottom teeth.

Then the last guard threw himself towards Finan from his blindside, bashing under Finan’s chin with the hilt of his sword, looking to pin him against the tree. The man’s impetus as he then whirled himself around whilst holding Finan’s collar pulled Finan round with him, the Irishman lost contact with his sword, his back left the trunk of the tree and they both fell to the ground, Finan underneath, all the air slammed out of his lungs - his opponent had discarded his sword but now had his short knife and was desperately trying to plunge it into Finan’s neck whilst the Irishman had a hold of the man’s wrist with both his hands - he was trying to draw a knee up into the man’s groin but the weight of his body and his mail grinding into Finan was giving Finan no room, and the more immediate problem of the knife’s tip being inches from his neck was preventing Finan from reaching for his small iron hook he kept in a pocket of his breeches. The man slammed his helmet onto the bridge of Finan’s nose and Finan growled in pain. 

And then suddenly Sihtric leapt down from his vantage point in the tree screaming in Danish, seax drawn and he landed on the man’s back ramming his knife into the man’s rib cage. The household guard collapsed gasping, and Sihtric heaved him off from the prone Finan, leaving Sihtric dropped to his knees astride the Irishman, panting, bloody seax in hand. 

‘What the fuck kept you so long?’ Finan gasped, fidgeting against Sihtric’s legs as he moved his head from one side to the other looking for his sword, and looking to see where Uhtred was. His anger at being sat on was spiking and the frustration of being helpless made the palms of his hands tingle and itch. 

He could see Uhtred just round on the other side of the tree, he had Eardwulf on his knees, Serpent-Breath held at his throat. 

And then a bolt of pure shock tore through Finan’s core as he looked up into Sihtric’s face, and for a mad panicky second he thought Sihtric was ill or injured. He was deathly pale, and he looked tormented, his eyes were dark and fat with tears and he blinked hard to send them running down both cheeks. 

In his sword hand he still held his bloody seax, but with his other hand he very shakily and very slowly moved his fingers to gently push a lock of dark hair and streak of fresh blood off Finan’s forehead above his bruised eye. 

Finan stayed stock still, his only movement the rising of his chest as his lungs responded to the adrenaline and exertion of the fight. He could feel the warmth of Sihtric’s inner thighs on his hips.

‘I am sorry for that,’ Sihtric spoke quietly, tipping his head towards the injury, as he drew his hand back from Finan’s temple. And then he twisted slightly and with shaking hands he wiped his seax on the grass to one side of Finan, and sheathed the knife. He leaned towards the Irishman then, placing his hands on the ground on either side of Finan’s head, closing the gap between them until his forehead lightly rested on Finan’s. 

Finan instinctively placed his palms flat on Sihtric’s chest to push against him as he leaned in closer but on seeing the Dane’s anguish, and on feeling Sihtric’s warm tears land on his own cheeks, Finan’s heart constricted and his hands moved to wrap around Sihtric’s back and he pulled Sihtric to him in a tight embrace. 

‘It’s alright.’ He whispered into Sihtric’s hair, ‘We’ll be alright.’ 

‘Should we get you two ladies a room at the next Inn?’ A voice asked from above Finan’s head. 

Finan looked up and behind him as he lay flat on his back, arms tight around Sihtric, and saw Osferth’s smiling face above him, blocking out the sun.


End file.
